The wind lashed at the keep walls, its icy, sharp caress like talons. Quinn was by herself in the east tower, her gaze sweeping the snow-covered horizon. Frost stuck to iron balustrades, and the trees down from the tower danced like skeletal fingers beneath a steel-gray sky.

Dusk had come early, enveloping White Fang lands in half-light.

There was an unnatural silence.

She sensed him before she saw him.

It was not magic that warned her, but instinct—an old hunter's instinct that something ...